


Good Girls Go to Heaven (Bad Girls Go Everywhere)

by bluetoast



Category: Pendragon - D. J. MacHale
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:07:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1322641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetoast/pseuds/bluetoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nevva Winter, age seventeen, knows that she isn't crazy and what she does is the right thing to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Girls Go to Heaven (Bad Girls Go Everywhere)

Insanity is a very, very weird thing. People who say they're crazy usually aren't and those that deny there's anything wrong with them are usually so full of problems they have no hope. Hope itself is fragile – it only exists because you believe it does. Nevva Winter, age seventeen – isn't sure if she's crazy or not. She believes in hope – because the hope of things working out the way they should is what keeps her going. It's sort of hard to have hope when your father gambled his life away for you and your mother abandoned you because of it. Then again, hope was one of the things in short supply on Quillian, so Nevva tells herself what she is doing is right. It has to be right – she believes that the Territories can help one another – they can all live together harmoniously.

Of course, there needs to be some fine tuning. All things do. Like those idiots who just wasted away in their own selfishness on Veelox. No loss there. Ibara, however – that's going to require some plans... they could just leave old Veelox alone – or go out to the cities other than Rubic and recycle the ruins. There was probably enough scrap in metal, glass and electronics littering Veelox to build seventy more blocks in the city of Rune on Quillian. Everything has it's place and it's purpose. People will die in this – but that can't be helped. People die all the time. People die on Quillian at a rate where you'd think the population was shrinking, but it's hard to tell – they don't die in great amounts all at once. But last time she heard, the death rate far exceeded the birth rate.

Nevva has not been everywhere in Halla, not yet. She's not been to Zadaa, because Saint Dane tells her the Traveler there, Osa – is nothing they need to worry about. She's never been to Denduron, because she knows that place is already well in hand and almost in the bag. She's been to Cloral – that was nice, although very warm. She was never one for swimming anyway. Veelox was a wreck of course – and then there was Second Earth. Coming here was like a field trip. Saint Dane always brought her along to learn something – but he'd leave her alone for stretches at a time. She's not entirely sure what he's planning to do here, but it has to be good.

Saint Dane knows what is right and the other Travelers are wrong.

Nevva knows she might be just a little crazy – you have to be slightly crazy to believe in Territories in the first place.

They were on Second Earth now and she was alone. Saint Dane told her he had 'work' to do in a small town called Stony Brook. He'd never taken her there and told her to never go there. She followed his orders because if she kept doing what she was told, things would get better not just for Quillian, but for all of Halla. Nevva doesn't mind – she likes to just sit and watch the chaos of New York City from the window of their hotel room, which soars sixty stories into the sky. She's been lots of places in this city – she likes the observation deck on the top of one of the massive twin towers at the far corner of the island, she likes the one on the Empire State Building too, the wind feels different when you're that high in the sky. Rather like flying – almost. Nevva knows it won't last – someday this will all be gone, but Saint Dane promised her that come the Convergence and she did what she was told, he had a gift picked out for her on Third Earth. It wasn't really a surprise, since she already knew what it would be, but the notion... ah, the notion...

Saint Dane told her that in the heart of the New York compound that would be built, he would have the Eiffel Tower in Paris taken down piece by piece and reassembled _just for her._ Now how could that not be wonderful? She'd only seen a picture of it, but _oh_ , it would be grand! All she had to do was just keep doing what he asked and to never question him. Not that hard – she'd been doing exactly that for the past seven years. She was getting very good at fooling people on Quillian she was a demure, overworked and cowed creature. Saint Dane, posing as Mr. Kato, only made it all the easier. He'd fooled the trustees of Blok, he'd fooled the people of Quillian – the two of them together would do wonders for Halla. 

And if trillions of people had to die, so be it.

Nevva knows she's only slightly crazy. If she knows she's crazy, then she can't be crazy – or something like that. 

When the door of the room opens up, she turns her head slightly to look at Saint Dane, who has taken on the appearance of some nameless person who looks to be twenty-two. “Welcome back.” 

“Nevva.” Saint Dane smiles and shuts the door. “What have you been doing with yourself?”

“Not much.” She replies and stands up. “I went for a walk in Central Park.... it was... pleasant.”

Saint Dane smile grows and he comes over to her, taking her face in both of his hands. “That sounds infinitely better than my day... I spent mine at school. It was quite boring.” He smirked. “I saw him, too.”

“Pendragon?” Her voice is just a whisper.

“Yes. Him and those two friends of his...” He chuckled darkly. “They still have no idea... Press is keeping the boy ignorant.”

“That is foolish, isn't it?” Nevva's lower lip trembles, worrying that she's straying into the area of Saint Dane's plan that could be called questioning.

“A bit...” He jerks her head back by her hair, still smiling. “But it will all work out...” His free hand travels down her arm. “You're not crazy Nevva, you're just...” 

She blinks in response, scared for a moment – this is not the first time he's held her like this. It both terrifies and excites her at the same time. 

“You're just.... young.” His smile grows into a leer. “So very young...”

Nevva swallows and then wets her lips. “I can't help that...”

“It's all right...” He lets go of her hair and kisses the top of her head, his hand now sliding down her back. “I like you that way.”

*  
Later that night, Nevva wakes up and stares out the window again while the other traveler sleeps next to her, sated and spent. She knows she isn't crazy. Maybe she's just... in love. Love in a very different sort of way. Love with an idea, a concept, a dream – people can love that. It doesn't make her crazy. She isn't crazy. She's not sure if she's in love with Saint Dane – even if... well, maybe she is.

Crazy people don't fall in love with anything. 

She turns tentatively in the bed, resting her head on the Traveler's bare chest. 

Her reward comes when he puts one arm around her back, holding her to him in comfort.


End file.
